


His home

by I_hate_mages_No_you_dont



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Fenders, Fluff, M/M, happiness, you don't need enemies with these friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-31
Updated: 2017-01-31
Packaged: 2018-09-21 05:10:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9533033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_hate_mages_No_you_dont/pseuds/I_hate_mages_No_you_dont
Summary: Fill for #januanders day 25: A string of seemingly unrelated events brings Anders to the Hanged Man. Dressed in a new tunic, practically bathed in perfume and entirely oblivious to the reason for his friends' scheming.(by kittenmage)





	

Maybe he should have been suspicious from the start.

Merrill had asked him over to help with some potions she apparently didn’t seem to get right. Even though this would have been the first time the talented Dalish elf didn’t accomplish something, Anders was happy to help.

The potion making had barely begun when Merrill knocked over a bottle of quite vile smelling spider intestines. Well it wasn’t so much as knocking over, but rather directing it subtly towards Anders so it would fall directly onto his coat that lay folded next to the healer. Anders cursed, jumped out of the way and slammed his hand over his nose.

“Oh, I am soo sorry, Anders!”, Merrill apologized, a lot too cheerful for someone who claimed to be sorry. She hastily put the cork back onto the bottle and used some cloth to wipe away the gooey substance from Anders’ coat. Luckily it hadn’t spilled on the feathers. That would have been worse. But as it was, his coat smelled of unspeakable horrors and he definitely couldn’t wear it like that. Not even in the sewer part of Kirkwall that he called his home.

“It’s fine. Never mind Merrill. I’ll just have to borrow a cloak or something. It’s still raining outside.”

“Oh no, that won’t do. My cloaks are far too short for you! You stay here, I’ll ask Marian if she has something for you!”

Ere Anders could protest, the elven mage had slipped on her own cloak and hurried away into the heavy rainfall. Anders had no choice but to wait for her return all the while fumbling with cloths and soap trying to clean his coat.

It took Merrill only a few minutes to reappear with Hawke had her side, carrying a bundle. Anders was almost sure that the walk into Hightown took longer than that, but maybe Merrill had been running to get through the rain as fast as possible.

“Hey Anders, got you something.” Hawke smiled then caught the first hint of the spider goo and scrunched up her nose. “Oh, that is bad. Can’t we just hang it outside so the rain will wash this way. This is terrible!” Without giving Anders the chance to intervene, Merrill picked up the smelling piece of clothing and flitted through the door. “But that…” Anders was more than a little concerned for his favourite garment. What if someone chose to steal it. It was far too big for any elf in the alienage, but one never knew in Kirkwall. Merrill wasn’t too careful with her own belongings and had lost more than one scarf because she forgot it outside.

“Let’s see if these fit.”, said Marian suddenly and threw something green and shimmering at Anders. When he caught it, he immediately knew this was a garment made of silk. He hadn’t touched anything as fine as this in years. “What is this?” His eyebrows rose in question.

“Your tunic. I don’t have any cloak warm enough that would fit you, so Merrill and I agreed that you needed something underneath. We can’t let you freeze, Anders.” The argument seemed sensible enough. Although silk definitely wasn’t the warmest choice of fabric.

A closer examination of the garment in his hands revealed a richly detailed tunic in a deep emerald green. Much like his own clothing before they saw too many winters and too much dirt. The cut and style closely resembled Hawke’s own finery that she always wore at home. In case any random noble dared to visit the infamous Champion of Kirkwall. Yet Anders had never seen her wear anything but different shades of red. This green was completely unusual for her. Nor did he recollect Carver wearing anything even remotely like this. The size wasn’t right either. Though Anders and Carver were almost of one height, their built was decidedly different. The garment in Anders’ hands would never fit over Carver’s shoulders. At least not if Carver intended to close it. So, who did these clothes belong to? 

“Go on, put it on. After this accident, Merrill won’t do any more damage. Or brew potions.” Marian winked at Merrill who replied with a giggle. This exchange in itself wasn’t odd. But adding to the other unusual occurrences so far, something about it irked Anders. He just couldn’t point a finger on it. Without protest he slipped into the fine tunic only then seeing the delicate gold embroidery around the neckline and sleeves. To his surprise, it fit perfectly. As if it had been made for him. His worn-down shirt disappeared completely under the new garment and he felt strangely out of place. This was the kind of attire his younger self would have dreamt of. Would have paraded in front of Isabela and the others at the Pearl. Or even his fellow Wardens at the Keep. If he had ever possessed something as richly decorated and expensive that is. Which he hadn’t.

In this time and place, the silk tunic seemed to clash violently with the apostate healer that he was now. Yet Marian and Merrill both let out a tiny squeal.

“It fits perfectly!”

“Anders, you look like prince!”

The sudden praise made heat rise into his cheeks. He shook his head and laughed nervously. “I definitely still feel like Darktown me.”

“Well, Darktown you is handsome. But now…” Hawke gave him an appreciative look, that caused Anders to blush even more. “You look spectacular!”

He tried to laugh the ridiculousness of the situation away. Both women kept stealing glances at him, when they drank tea together. This time Merrill’s former clumsiness was completely gone. She even caught a flask filled with honey before it could shatter on the ground with such ease, it made Anders wonder if there was some scheme behind the earlier “accident”.

The feeling intensified when he left for his home and Hawke and Merrill wished him good luck at the door. What were they referring to?

Back in the clinic, he had barely removed the newly acquired cloak, there was a rapid knock and Isabela walked into the room. As always with swaying hips and a winning smile.

“Isabela!”

Anders was about to ask what she needed, when he saw the look she gave him. Her glance wandered from his head over the suspiciously beautiful tunic to his feet. Did she really just give him that suggestive once over? “Sparklefingers”, she finally said with an approving click of her tongue, “Kitten wasn’t lying. You look dashing like this. You could maybe use a comb once in a while, but I’m positive the bed hair look works as well.” She gave him a indicative wink.

Completely thrown off his usual conversation routine he blinked at her for a few moments. “Is there something you need?”

“Oh… there is! Thanks for reminding me!” She settled down on Anders’ desk and grinned. “I might have a problem that needs your attention.”

One eye roll wasn’t enough for discussions like these. When Isabela begun in this manner, it was usually a problem of a rather… explicit nature.

“Fine. Just let me close the clinic and I can…”

“No, no, not here! Do you really expect me to undress in this freezing hell hole you call a clinic? No. We’ll go to the Hanged Man.” With that she jumped off the table, the movement as fluent as it was graceful.

“And before I forget it…” She got out a tiny flask from her pouch, poured a bit of the honey coloured liquid on her hands and suddenly rubbed them over Anders’ neck and cheeks.

“Andraste’s tits, Isabela what are you up to?” Anders was too shocked to back away. Yet even immobile, Anders’ mouth never failed him. “You can’t just smear Maker knows what onto my skin. What is that even supposed to be?” Before Isabela answered his question, he caught the faint smell of something sweet. And then something that reminded him of a fruit he had once eaten at Hawke’s mansion. It was a sour, fresh smell that stood in stark contrast to the stale air in the clinic.

“You’re welcome! Now hurry up, before Darktown spoils the effect again!” And with that Isabela caught hold of Anders’ hand and dragged him out of the clinic. He barely had enough time to grab the cloak from Hawke and his staff.

“Why so hasty Isabela? If it hurts so much you could have spared the time to rub perfume all over my face!” Anders wasn’t even angry. Just confused. Even for Isabela this sort of behaviour was odd. “You’ll see Sweetie! You’ll see!” And Isabela said no more, simply continued their way up towards Lowtown. Once inside the Hanged Man, they skimmed through the early evening crowd that was already busy with drinking and swapping tales that had hardly any foundation in reality. Moments later they reached the upper floor and were met by Varric, who seemed to be pacing in front of his room.

“Ahh, there you are! Took you long enough.” After a hasty greeting, Varric, too, gave Anders’ that weird look. He shook his head. “Not even properly shaved, Isabela, that was your job.”

The pirate just shrugged. “He smells nice. That’s as much as I could do.”

Anders looked from one to the other. “Would someone be so kind and explain what you are talking about?”

“Get down here, Blondie!” Varric said in an unusually demanding tone and Anders complied wordlessly. He bent down, not knowing what would follow, when Varric hastily removed Anders’ hair tie, skimmed through the blond strands and bound them back again. “Much better!”

All Anders could do was stare in confusion. Why was everyone so obsessed with his looks all of a sudden?

“Ah, good! You’re not inside yet!” A breathless Aveline approached them, carrying a basket. As soon as she was next to them, she shoved it into Anders’ hands. The healer accepted instinctively. By this point too flabbergasted to even bother asking what they were up to. “This is my contribution”, she said sternly and seemed to expect some sort of reaction. “Ah… thanks… I guess!”

The door to Varric’s rooms opened and Merrill peeked out through the small crack. “He’s here. Great. We’re almost ready.” The door closed again.

“Ready for what? Andraste’s knickerweasels, what Is going on?!” As before, Anders got no reply. His friends just grinned sheepishly at him without saying anything. Isabela even went as far as snorting at his helpless expression. He was so close to not finding this funny anymore, when the door opened and Merrill and Hawke came out for Varric’s quarters.

“You can go in! And don’t worry, Orana did the cooking.” Hawke wore the same self-satisfied smirk as the others. And Anders, tired of getting no reply, just marched into the room. The door fell shut behind him, cutting of the laughter of his friends.

At least Fenris wasn’t part of this ludicrous scheme. At least his lover wasn’t part of a weird scheme to get him into different clothes, splashed with perfume and supplied with a basket full of apples and sweets Anders had never seen before in his life. At least Fenris was…

Here.

Anders stopped dead in his tracks once he registered the surroundings. The usual furniture was still there, but someone – probably Merrill and Hawke -had adorned every free surface with candles and some flowers and dried elfroot. It smelled almost like a field in summer. Warm and fragrant and sweet. The table where they usually played cards was covered in the most extravagant dinner set Anders had ever seen. Fenris stood behind the table in a hitherto unfamiliar tunic. It’s cut and style matched Anders’. Yet the colour seemed to be a darker shade of green, appearing almost black in the flickering light.

“Fenris?” His mouth had run dry. “What…”

The elf moved towards him with a few determined steps and firmly held a finger against Anders’ lips.

“Please… please let me speak, before I lose the courage!” His green eyes were fixed directly at him, the look soft and pleading. Anders simply nodded and carefully set down the basket on a chair. He wasn’t sure if he would have found any words after all.

“I…”, Fenris’ gaze wandered off for a second and his hand fidgeted as if he was searching for the right way to phrase what he was thinking. “… I am sorry for the confusion. I didn’t know how to do this and suddenly everyone wanted to help and Hawke came up with this plan. I’m sorry if they dragged you here against your will.”

He looked back up at Anders, a mixture of sadness and anticipation written all over his face. It was almost heartbreaking to see Fenris like this. Normally he guarded his emotions so fiercely. Now it seemed as if a slight gust of wind could make him spill everything openly. Anders was about to pull Fenris into an embrace, when the elf took a step back.

“No… please. I need to do this first. I want to…”

The fidgeting got worse and worry bubbled inside Anders’ chest. What was happening here?

“Kaffas… mage. I… I love you!”

It was a whisper. A curse and three small words. Three words that had Anders almost break out in tears. He had said them over and over in the last years. Loud and soft, filled with sadness and joy alike. Fenris always smiled in reply, squeezed his hand, gave him a kiss, held him closer. Yet he could never say it as well. Anders didn’t expect him to. He knew that Fenris loved him. But to hear it aloud for the first time. It was too much. He felt the tears streaming down his face, before he could stop himself.

“I am very bad at this, and I will probably always be bad at this. But… I want to be with you! I want to…” Fenris’ hands clenched into fists and loosened in one swift move. “I want to be with you. Always. Until our days are over. Mage… Anders will you...”

A hitched breath escaped Anders. It burst from his mouth and turned into giggling and sobbing on his way out.

“Will you marry me?”

Was he grinning? He probably was. Fenris reached out to take his hand and it was all Anders could do to not just dissolve into even more happy tears.

“Anders?”

“Yes… yes… I mean… Maker, YES!!!”

The moment Anders realized that Fenris had pulled him into a deep kiss, was the moment the door flew open and their friends as good as tumbled into the room.

“He said yes?!”

“Blondie still alive?”

“Can we congratulate you?”

Merrill jumped directly at them and placed tiny kisses on their cheeks. “I knew it! I knew it!! I knew you’ll say yes!”

Isabela was only slightly less affectionate and undoubtedly more hands on in her congratulations. Anders felt a firm grasp on his butt and if Isabela’s grin was any indication she held Fenris the same way. “If you two are ever bored in your marriage, you know where to find me.”

Aveline just awkwardly shook their hands, visibly relieved that everything had turned out well.

Hawke and Varric expressed their joy a little more eloquently. Fenris was the one to respond mostly. Anders just kept staring and blinking and grinning, wiping away the occasional stray tear. When they were all settled around the table, the rare delicacies Aveline had brought placed alongside Orana’s delicious dishes, everyone laughing and talking, Anders would have liked to freeze time. He felt a soft touch at his hand and as he looked down he saw Fenris’ lyrium-lined hand firmly locked in his. The softest smile Anders had ever seen played across Fenris’ lips and his own heart jumped at the sight.

He was happy. And never had been more so.

His friends where the weirdest bunch of people Thedas had ever seen.

But they were his.

His friends.

His family.

His home. And he couldn’t be more grateful for that.

**Author's Note:**

> Anders/Happiness <3  
> Because the mage deserves to be happy!  
> And on a very sappy end note: so do all of you! Whether this is with somebody else or on your own! You derseve to be happy! And I sincerly hope you are or will be very soon! :) <3


End file.
